The melodies of our hearts

Chapter 3

By the time the bus pulled into Seattle, Lena had already filled several pages in her notebook, her attempts to keep focused on the story only half-successful. She'd spent most of the trip writing about Nate's stories and jotting down her observations about the band's routines on the road, but her mind kept wandering back to that brief exchange with Elliot. There was something about him—an intensity she couldn't quite put into words, and a distance she couldn't help but want to bridge.

The band had the afternoon off before their evening performance, and Mitch was eager to get everyone out and moving. "Okay, everyone," he announced as they disembarked, "we've got a couple of hours to see Seattle before soundcheck. Go grab some food, stretch your legs, breathe in something other than bus fumes."

The band scattered in different directions, and Lena lingered near the edge of the sidewalk, her bag slung over her shoulder. She hadn't expected this kind of downtime with them; her work rarely involved tagging along outside of shows. She pulled out her phone to check the café recommendations Mitch had given her, wondering if this might be her chance to blend in without being "the writer" for a bit.

"Looking for something?" The voice startled her. She looked up to find Elliot standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching her with the same inscrutable look he'd given her on the bus. "Yeah. Just somewhere to grab lunch," she replied, trying to keep her tone casual. He nodded, looking down the street. "There's a place with decent food a couple blocks from here. Quiet, mostly locals." He hesitated before adding, "If you want, I can show you." Lena blinked, surprised by the offer. Elliot had kept his distance until now, only speaking to her in clipped sentences or polite nods. But she knew better than to push her luck. This was likely the best chance she'd get to spend any time with him one-on-one, and if she was honest, she was curious about what he'd be like away from the stage. "Sure. Thanks," she said, falling into step beside him.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Lena couldn't help but notice the way he seemed to blend into the crowd, despite his fame. His head was down, hands in his pockets, and he kept his shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to make himself smaller. It was a side of him she hadn't expected—the Elliot Wolfe she'd watched last night had been larger than life, commanding attention without effort. But here, on the crowded streets of Seattle, he looked almost... ordinary.

They reached the café, a small, rustic place with exposed brick walls and the smell of fresh coffee wafting from the open door. He held it open for her, giving her a slight nod as she walked past him into the warmth of the café.

Inside, he led her to a small table by the window, away from the few other patrons scattered around. He ordered a black coffee and a sandwich, and Lena followed suit, the simplicity of it feeling unexpectedly grounding.

"So," he said once they'd settled, his gaze fixed on her with that same intensity she was starting to recognize. "Why music?" She blinked, surprised by the question. "You mean... why I write about it?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning back slightly. "Could've covered anything, right? Politics, sports, fashion. Why music?" She paused, considering. She'd answered this question a dozen times before, but something about the way he asked made her want to answer honestly, not just recite her usual response. "It's... hard to explain, really," she began slowly. "I guess I've always believed that music is one of the few things that's completely honest. There's no filter, no agenda. Just... raw feeling." She hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. "I think that's why I like writing about it. I'm not trying to 'sell' anything; I'm just telling the story behind it." He looked at her, his expression softening. "Interesting answer."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?" she challenged, a small smile tugging at her lips. He smirked, glancing out the window. "Interesting good," he said after a pause. "A lot of people treat it like... a product. Something to analyze, package, and sell. But you see it differently." She felt a flush of warmth at the quiet approval in his voice. "That's the goal, anyway," she said, brushing a curl behind her ear.

For a few moments, they fell into a comfortable silence, sipping their coffees and watching the world pass by outside. She felt a strange sense of ease with him, like she was seeing a version of him that few people got to see—an Elliot stripped of his fame, his persona, just a man who was passionate about the music he created.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" she asked after a while.

He raised an eyebrow. "Tired of what?"

"All of it. The fame, the shows, the interviews. The pressure to be... well, 'Elliot Wolfe,'" she said, feeling slightly embarrassed as she voiced the question.

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze flicking down to his coffee. "Sometimes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's... a lot, you know? People see what they want to see. They see the stage version of me, the guy who's supposed to have all the answers, all the feelings. But it's not always that simple." She nodded, her heart twisting a little at the vulnerability in his voice. "I can imagine."

"No," he said with a small, rueful smile, "you really can't. But... thanks for saying that."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Lena felt the weight of everything unsaid between them—the questions she hadn't asked, the walls he hadn't let down. But there was something there, a connection that felt almost tangible, a mutual understanding that neither of them seemed willing to break.

When their food arrived, the moment passed, and he retreated back into his usual silence, but Lena couldn't shake the feeling that she'd just glimpsed something rare, something precious.

After they finished eating, he led her back through the winding streets, neither of them saying much. But as they walked, she found herself feeling closer to him, her curiosity about him deepening with every step. There was a quiet loneliness in him that resonated with her, a feeling she knew all too well. It was as if they were both searching for something they couldn't quite name.

When they reached the bus, the rest of the band was waiting, Nate and Chris lounging on the steps, cracking jokes as they smoked cigarettes. Elliot gave her a brief nod, and without another word, he joined his bandmates, slipping back into the rhythm of their world. Lena lingered by the door, her heart still racing from the conversation they'd shared. She couldn't say what had changed between them exactly, but something had. And as she watched him laugh at something Nate said, his face softening in a way she hadn't seen before, she realized with a jolt of certainty that she wasn't just here to tell a story about a band.

She was here to understand him. And somehow, she sensed that might be the most complicated story of all.

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